


wading into the water and the unknown with your hand in my hand

by eneiryu



Series: mistakes aren't always regrets [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Discovering New Kinks As You Go, If You Make Him Go Through This Again, M/M, Theo Will Come Up There and Ruin Your Night, Things To Do on College Tour Trips That Have Nothing To Do With College or Tours, pack bond, porn with a little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24220063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eneiryu/pseuds/eneiryu
Summary: In Mason’s defense, it genuinelystartsas an accident.
Relationships: Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt
Series: mistakes aren't always regrets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642510
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	wading into the water and the unknown with your hand in my hand

**Author's Note:**

> It's entirely [snaeken's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snaeken) fault and I assume they are not even a little bit sorry.

Corey’s getting overwhelmed again.

It’s this specific itching feeling at the base of Mason’s skull, like someone had bottled up that can’t-sit-still energy from a too-long car ride, or a long day at work, or school, and injected it directly into the spot at the top of his spine. It sets Mason to shifting uncomfortably, too, and then when Corey looks at him and realizes what’s happening it becomes this immediate feedback loop of guilt and frantic gestured apologies and then more guilt, because the college tour guide is giving them a funny look. Finally Corey just flushes bright red, and drops his hands, and resolutely _doesn’t_ look at Mason, like Mason doesn’t have a feed directly into his _brain_. Mason feels his jaw clench.

As the group starts to move on Mason takes a step forward and half-pivots on his heel, blocking Corey from following. “Hey,” he murmurs, low and soothing. The alpha—the _Beast_ —bur to his voice is accidental, a reflex, but it _works_ ; Corey closes his eyes and swallows loud enough that Mason hears his throat click, and slumps a little.

“Sorry,” Corey whispers, his guilt surging again.

Mason shakes his head to shake it off. He brings his hands up to cup Corey’s face. “Don’t apologize,” he counters fiercely. “Don’t be _sorry_ for—” He cuts himself off. He leans forward, and kisses Corey instead.

Corey makes a noise, soft and startled, and then presses forward into him. He drops his mouth open, too, and Mason follows the curve of his jaw with one hand as it falls, and then keeps going, sliding his fingers down Corey’s neck. He _means_ to wrap his fingers back, around the curve of Corey’s neck so that he can press his fingertips into the place at the base of his skull where he knows he and Theo live, now, just like Corey and Theo live at the base of his own. But part way there, and with his thumb still wrapped around the front of Corey’s throat, Corey strokes his tongue over and around Mason’s own, and Mason’s hand _spasms_.

It spasms _around Corey’s throat_.

Mason _panics_. He goes to pull back but then he _can’t_ , because one of Corey’s hands flies up, and pins Mason’s hand exactly where it is, still resting around the curve of Corey’s throat. His eyes are wide when Mason pulls back to look at him.

“Oh,” Mason realizes blankly, because now that he can think around that initial surge of panic, he can tell what’s _actually_ coming off of Corey, and it’s not—whatever Mason had originally assumed it’d be. “Oh. Um.” 

And then they both jump, because about fifteen feet away and still trailing the edge of the tour group, Theo suddenly hisses, just loud enough to carry, “You two are in _public_.”

Both Mason and Corey jump, and whip around to look at Theo, who’s glaring back at them, Liam at his side and glancing confusedly between them. Mason _flushes_ , just as Liam’s eyes go wide and his expression goes _delighted_ , and he and Corey practically _leap_ apart. 

“We should, um,” Mason stutters, just as Corey mumbles, “The tour, we should—”

They both cut off, and stare at each other, and then mutely rush to rejoin the group, and Theo and Liam impatiently waiting for them. Or _Theo_ is impatiently waiting for them, anyway. Liam just grins, when they get close enough, and looks them both up and down.

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he observes, and then yelps and stumbles forward when Theo smacks him lightly upside the back of his head.

“I thought it was _you_ who was most likely to get us arrested on this trip,” Theo hisses at him, obviously unamused.

“Okay, coming from you,” Liam returns, “that is _rich_.”

He and Theo continue to squabble as they turn to start following the tour group again, and Mason—after exchanging an embarrassed look with Corey—hurries to follow, Corey on his heels.

But back in their hotel room a few hours later, Mason finds that he can’t stop sneaking glances at the smooth line of Corey’s throat, as he’s rustling through his suitcase looking for a shirt to sleep in, or slipping past Mason with a shy smile on his way into the bathroom to shower. And every time he _does_ look, he feels a phantom tingling across the length of his palm; can feel the phantom ridge of Corey’s Adam’s apple under his fingers. 

So he does the only thing he can think to do: he shoves all of it down, and ignores it.

But the thing is, the connection between him and Corey works both ways, and Corey isn’t an idiot. As Mason is passing him to head into the bathroom as Corey is coming out of it, Corey suddenly stops, and angles his body in such a way that Mason can’t actually move past him. He stops, already half-pinned back against the doorway, and flickers a look up at Corey.

Corey’s already looking back at him, tongue just barely touching his lower lip, and a flush already high up on his cheeks. The seeming contradiction of that uncertain look with the sly twist to his mouth, and the crinkled corners of his eyes, makes Mason’s breath catch in his chest. He stares. 

“Hi,” Corey whispers.

“Hi,” Mason whispers reflexively back, though his eyes are still wide, and fixed on Corey’s face.

Corey’s bright expression flickers some, echoed by a slight twisting of the sense of him at the base of Mason’s skull. “About earlier, I’m, um—”

Mason wants his carefree expression back. He wants the sense of guilt _gone_ from the top of his spine. Before he’s really thought about it, he’s brought his hands back up, and cupped Corey’s face, and interrupted his apology with a fierce kiss. It rocks them back a single step, and then another, until Corey’s back hits the opposite jamb.

“I said _don’t_ apologize,” Mason reminds him, firmly but gently, after he breaks away. Corey stares down at him, his expression cracked open, and so Mason _has_ to surge back into him. _Has_ to kiss him again. 

He probably doesn’t have to drop one hand back to Corey’s throat, but. 

Corey sucks in a sharp, startled breath, and Mason can _feel_ it. Literally feel it, Corey’s throat moving under his fingers and Corey’s chest stuttering against his own, and Mason can’t help it; he moans, and presses harder forward.

And then he flinches and pulls back, one eye squinting shut, as _pain_ explodes outward from the base of his skull. It’s gone in an instant, just that single bright flare, and almost instantly Mason’s distracted by the angry buzz of his phone still in his jeans’ pocket. Shooting a confused look at Corey, who’d also flinched back hard enough to smack his head against the door frame, Mason slides his phone free, and then blanches when he looks at the name of the caller.

“I will,” Theo says, very calmly, when Mason answers, “fucking _come up there_ and _ruin the rest of your goddamn night_ , if you do this to me again.”

Barely audible in the background of the call, Mason can hear Liam blow a loud, unimpressed raspberry and sing-song _spoilsport_. Mason wants to both laugh and grimace at the same time, and only manages to do some mangled combination of both. Still half-pinned by Mason against the wall, Corey is _shaking_ with his own quiet laughter.

Theo ignores all of these things. “Close,” he orders, “the _goddamn connection!_ ”

“Yes,” Mason hurries to agree. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Theo hangs up. Mason spends a few seconds with his phone still held by his ear, just grimacing at Corey, who grimaces right back. 

And then they both crack up with laughter.

“Oh my god,” Corey gasps, “I can’t—”

“ _How_ do we keep forgetting—” Mason laments.

They both crack up again. 

But as it starts to peter out, Mason realizes that he’s still pressed up against Corey still in the doorway. More than that, really, he’d half slumped against Corey as he’d laughed, Corey’s hands coming automatically to his hips to hold him steady as Mason had doubled-over, laughing breathily, and his hands are still there. They tighten, as Mason starts to straighten, his eyes drawing back up to Corey’s.

Corey swallows. “Okay, but,” he starts to say, just the _slightest_ waver in his voice. “You should—you should really close the connection. Make sure Theo doesn’t, um.”

“Come up here,” Mason fills in, his eyes dropping to Corey’s lips. “Ruin the rest of our night.”

“Yeah,” Corey whispers, _his_ eyes dropping to _Mason’s_ lips. “Yeah, that.”

He surges forward into Mason, kissing him again. 

But closing off the connection is harder than it sounds, and made harder— _ha_ , Mason thinks weakly, absently, Liam’s smarmy smile coming to mind as he imagines the dirty look or joke or both that Liam would have made—by the fact that Corey immediately starts wrestling Mason’s shirt up, and over his head. Mason cooperates, best he can, even as he’s squeezing his eyes shut and trying to _focus_ ; trying to grab hold of the connection, and twist the proverbial tap of it shut.

He manages it, for about two whole seconds, and then Corey ducks down and presses his teeth to the curve of Mason’s throat, and it blows wide again. It blows wide enough that he can actually feel _Theo_ stagger with it; feel the tide of it rushing back into himself and dragging _Theo’s_ helpless, reflexive arousal with it, too. _Sorry!_ He thinks, at the flaring twist of annoyance he can feel radiating out from Theo. _Sorry, sorry, I’m—_

 _Trying_ , he thinks. He’s really _trying_ , but he can’t concentrate with Corey sucking instantly-healing marks into the skin of his collarbones, and without even really thinking about it he reaches forward, and down, and gets his hand on Corey’s chest—at the base of his _throat_ —as he shoves him backwards. Corey’s back hits the edge of the doorframe, Mason’s hand still on his throat, and his eyes go wide, wide. This time Mason doesn’t make the mistake of thinking Corey’s freaked-out, or scared. 

His _arousal_ crests too hard and hot for that. 

“Oh,” Mason groans as he stares at him. “ _Oh_.”

His eyes had flared ghost-blue. He squeezes them shut as he concentrates on dropping the shift; as he concentrates on holding Corey at bay, and on closing the connection still blown wide. Corey’s pulse is rabbiting underneath the fingers Mason has pressed to his neck and Mason _shudders_ , but doesn’t let himself get distracted. Bit by aching bit, he closes the connection.

And then, once it’s closed, he opens his eyes, and flicks them up to meet Corey’s.

“Mason,” Corey whispers, and Mason can feel the shape of his own name stream across the wrist connected to the hand he still has pressed to Corey’s throat. He drops his eyes to his fingers, and then he starts to lean, very slowly, harder forward.

Corey’s eyelashes _flutter_ , and then he _moans_.

It’s startling, it’s stunning, but Mason realizes he can actually _hear_ _it_ as he starts to constrict Corey’s airway. The exact sound the air makes as it rushes down Corey’s throat, and the rasp of it as Corey exhales it back out, shift just slightly, just enough, that Mason realizes he can _track_ it. He leans a little harder forward, and then rocks a little farther back, his ears _fixed_ on the sound of it. Listening. Cataloging.

“Mason. Mason, jesus,” Corey gasps, finally, his lips _dragging_ against Mason’s own where Mason had leaned forward to kiss him as he’d experimented. “Mason, you have to—”

Mason had shoved a thigh in between Corey’s own without really realizing it, and he’d been so focused on his hand on Corey’s throat that he’d barely noticed Corey giving these helpless, needy little jerks of his hips, _riding_ it, but he sure as hell notices when Corey shifts just enough that _his_ thigh grinds against _Mason’s_ cock. 

“—you have to _fuck me_ , please,” Corey finishes, and nearly on a whine.

Mason glances up at him, a little helplessly, and catches Corey’s glazed eyes and spots his pleasure-slack mouth, and feels his fingers spasm reflexively around Corey’s throat. Corey _keens_.

“God, yes,” Mason gasps. “God, okay.”

He practically _throws_ himself away from Corey. He has to, or he’d never get himself to move. Corey’s neck is flushed pink from the pressure of his hand but not bruised, and there’s a small corner of Mason’s mind that unwinds, slightly; that relaxes back from the tight, clenched-up anxiety that had pervaded it up until he sees that flush, and then sees it fade.

But he doesn’t get to see it for long, because Corey throws _himself_ back into the main body of the hotel room, clumsily stripping off his shirt as he goes. Mason swallows, loud and dry-mouthed, and follows after him, groaning and _staring_ as Corey winds his fingers in the sweatpants he’d pulled on, and yanks them and his briefs down in one go, barely slowing on his way to the bed.

He clambers onto it on his hands and knees, one hand outstretched for the little bottle of lube they’d stashed in the nightstand, because _of course_ they were going to take advantage of having a hotel room all to themselves. Mason remembers Corey’s exact grin when he’d said that, and grins himself as he follows after, shedding his own sweats and briefs as he goes and climbing up onto the bed just as Corey gets himself twisted around, and flat on his back.

He also almost immediately gets a hold of Mason’s hands, and presses the bottle into them. “Here, here,” he gasps, closing Mason’s fingers around it. “Here, c’mon.”

Mason nearly laughs, oddly charmed. “Okay,” he murmurs, leaning down to nose at Corey’s mouth, his cheek, as he takes the little bottle. “Okay, I’ve got you.”

He sits back on his heels. When Corey had flipped around he’d deliberately arranged his legs so that Mason was between them, and he spreads them even further now, and draws his knees up. Mason sucks in a sharp breath, looking down at him like that.

“Mason,” Corey begs.

“I’ve got you,” Mason repeats, more firmly this time—more like a _promise_ —and leans down to kiss him _hard_ before leaning back again, and getting the lid of the little bottle flipped open.

The first touch of Mason’s slicked fingers to his rim has Corey arching, his hands clenching in the bedspread on either side of his hips. The second has him _squirming_ , trying to take Mason’s finger deeper, faster, and Mason nearly plants a hand on Corey’s hip to hold him still, when at the last moment, he reaches _up_ instead, and plants it at the base of his throat.

Corey _freezes_.

His eyes snap open, and wide, and he stares at Mason as Mason stares back. After a second Mason tests moving his finger again, and he’s not at _all_ surprised when Corey’s eyes gleam, and he deliberately _rolls_ his hips. 

Mason rears up, and then leans _down_ , pressing his bracing hand against the base of Corey’s throat down harder, pinning him flat. 

It doesn’t exactly keep Corey’s hips from moving but Mason doesn’t mind that, has to turn and bury a moan against the side of Corey’s upraised knee as Corey’s hips work against his hand, practically opening _himself_ up. He adds a second finger when he can tell Corey’s ready for it, and then a third.

“Okay,” Corey eventually gasps, though it comes out rougher, and breathier, under the weight of Mason’s hand still resting just _enough_ at the base of his throat. “Mason, I’m ready. _Please_.”

Mason doesn’t acquiesce right away. Instead he holds Corey still a little more firmly, and twists his fingers still buried inside him a little deeper, but Corey’s right; he’s ready. Biting off a groan by literally _biting_ at the curve of Corey’s knee, Mason slides his fingers free of Corey’s body and then reaches down with his dry hand to retrieve the little bottle of lube he’d dropped on the sheets, and get another drizzle spread over his already-wet fingers.

He _moans_ when he wraps a hand around himself, slicking his cock. 

Corey had bitten off a protest when Mason had removed his hand from his neck, but now he gasps and groans and arches his head back as Mason presses the tip of cock to his rim, and then starts pressing _in_. Mason has to huff out his own unsteady series of breaths, because even with the prep Corey is still _tight_ , and Mason’s already on edge from the constant clench of Corey’s ass around his fingers and the bob of Corey’s throat under his hand. He grits his teeth, and focuses on keeping his hips steady as he presses forward, and forward, until the front of his thighs are flush up against the backs of Corey’s.

He pauses, once he’s there, and looks down at Corey, who looks up at him. Corey’s mouth is bitten, and red, even with his healing, because every other second he pulls his lip back between his teeth, his eyes hooded. Mason groans, and bends over him to kiss him, wet and filthy and deep.

And then he leans back up, and plants one hand on the bed next to Corey’s head, and one hand back at the base of his throat, just high enough that he can feel it—that he can _hear_ it—when he starts to cut off Corey’s airflow, just a bit.

And then he _fucks_ him.

Even with the connection closed he can still see Corey, and hear him, and _smell_ him, and it isn’t long before the shift starts to slouch restlessly under his skin, rising and rising and pressing at his flesh, wanting _out_. Wanting _closer_. Mason fights back all but the flare of his eyes as he slits them open, and stares down at Corey, who _moans_ as he catches sight of the pale blue, and clenches _tight_ around him.

Neither of them last long. They’d both been too wound up, and then constantly interrupted and wound up _again_ , and Mason—Mason can both feel and hear it when Corey’s already-rasping breath starts to stutter even _more_ under his bracing hand, can feel it when the muscles of Corey’s stomach against his own start to clench, and flutter. He drops a hand down to Corey’s cock, and starts to stroke.

Corey comes, and Mason lasts only one, two, three more thrusts more until he’s coming, too.

He starts to collapse down on top of Corey, boneless, and only afterwards remembers where his hand is. “ _Oh!_ ” He gasps, and quickly yanks it away, and in doing so winds up with his face mashed against Corey’s shoulder as he loses his balance, having removed his own bracing hand.

Corey _laughs_.

“Big bad Beast,” he guffaws, and neither of them flinch at the name; _we’re_ reclaiming _it_ , Corey had declared one day, and then he’d started using it. Had started randomly peppering it into conversation; a fond nickname, rather than a terrified curse. “That was so _very_ smooth.”

“Shut up,” Mason mumbles, but he doesn’t bother to lift his face from Corey’s shoulder, so it comes out more as _shumpf umpf._ He shifts just enough that his softening cock slips out of Corey, but doesn’t move any farther than that. Corey shifts slightly, too, but only to resettle his weight under Mason’s.

They both start to drift. Probably they should shower. Well, Corey should shower _again_ , and Mason should shower for the first time, but Mason’s too comfortable, and sated, and _warm_ , and he doesn’t want to move. As he starts to slide into sleep, he loses his control over the connection, and it starts slowly leaking back in until its reached its usual level, a constant, ever-present awareness, just as warm and just as comforting. 

Something about it starts to tickle at the back of his mind, a vague scratching _press_ , but he doesn’t get the chance to untangle it; Corey suddenly reaches down, and tilts his face up.

“Thanks,” he says, low and quiet and sincere. When he sees Mason’s brow furrow, he clarifies, “For—earlier, during the tour. For noticing. Thanks.”

Mason just smiles, slow and sweet and sleepy. “Anytime,” he tells Corey, and _means it_.

Corey grins, and crunches low to kiss him, and then burrows back into the pillow under his head, and the sheets. Mason grins, too, his lips tingling, and then burrows back into _Corey_ , and lets his eyes slip back closed.

\---

One floor down, and exactly one room over, Theo is lying flat on his back and presumably staring straight up at the ceiling and trying to smother himself with a pillow.

“I mean,” Liam points out reasonably, stretched out next to him on the bed and _grinning_ , “technically they did what you asked. The walls being thin and _you_ having supernatural hearing isn’t, you know,” he pauses to toss a peanut from the little bag of trail mix he’d been eating into his mouth, “their fault.”

“I hate you and I hate them,” Theo snarks back, his voice muffled and full of despair.

Liam grins, and tosses the—mostly—empty bag of trail mix to the side as he yanks the pillow away from Theo’s face, and swings a leg over his hips to straddle him. 

“Nah,” he says, as he leans down to kiss Theo and his slack mouth and wide, _dilated_ eyes, his ass _grinding_ down against Theo’s half-hard cock, “you don’t.” 

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback loved! If you liked, please consider a comment or a [reblog](https://eneiryu.tumblr.com/post/618299743546884096/wading-into-the-water-and-the-unknown-with-your)!


End file.
